


A New Identity

by Bluewolf458



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, Sentinel Bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 01:18:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14944952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluewolf458/pseuds/Bluewolf458
Summary: There is a mysterious killer in Cascade





	A New Identity

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2018 sentinel bingo prompt 'locked in'

A New Identity

by Bluewolf

**Another Time. Another Place.**

Because his father was a very powerful man in their relatively small community, nobody teased the boy to his face about his name, although he knew things were said behind his back about it.

Not that he was actually disliked - he was on fairly good terms with most of the boys in the place - but he had no close friends. Though he was pretty sure that had nothing to do with him; it was more a wariness concerning his father.

Yes, everyone knew it might have been advantageous for their sons to be on friendly terms with The Man's only child - but The Man was known to have a wary, untrusting nature. The few people who worked for him never mixed with 'outsiders', and even the housekeeper who went out once a week to buy food never gossiped with anyone - she selected the items she needed, paid for them and left again; she could have been mute, for she never spoke, even to say "Good morning" to the shopkeeper. (A previous housekeeper who _had_ said things like, "Good morning. Nice day," hadn't kept her job for long, as if The Man thought that from there it would be a very short step to talking about more private things.)

His wife was dead - had died in childbirth when the boy was eight, and the child had died too; and the doctor and midwife attending to her had both mysteriously disappeared two days later. The community had been without a doctor for close on a month before a new one appeared, as mysteriously as the other had vanished. He never said where he had come from.

So fathers quietly warned their sons not to get too friendly with the boy.

Not that the boy knew much about what his father did.

***

When he was nineteen, dissatisfied with the life of ease he had led since he left school, and knowing that his father didn't - wouldn't - trust even him with the secrets of his life, and was unlikely to let him find work anywhere locally - even if anyone was prepared to employ him - the boy, now a young man, went to his father - a man that even he saw rarely.

"Father."

"Yes, my son?"

He plunged into a well thought out, well-rehearsed speech. "Don't misunderstand me when I say I would like to work, father. I appreciate that you work very hard to give us a comfortable life, but have you considered that I might have inherited from you that same urge to work?

"I realize that it would be difficult for me to find work here without perhaps compromising what you do, so I think the best thing would be for me to emigrate, and if possible change my name as well, so that there's no way anyone could link me to you, and perhaps try to use me, or my safety, in an attempt to influence you."

Not even to himself did the boy admit that he suspected his father's response to any threat aimed at his son would be to say "Go ahead", thinking he was calling an enemy's bluff. And if it wasn't a bluff - if an enemy did indeed kill him - his father would relax, knowing that there was no other threat that could be applied. A threat to his own life would be counter-productive - the one thing the boy did know was that his father had a finger in too many pies, and he was well aware of the wide-spread belief that his father's death would result in total economic ruin, not just for his immediate community, but for his entire country.

The Man looked thoughtfully at his son, and slowly nodded. "I have been waiting for this day," he said. "But consider this. If you leave, it is permanent. There will be no coming back if you decide that you have made a mistake."

"I understand." There was no hesitation in the boy's voice.

His father nodded. "I will get you a passport in another name, and arrange for false papers that give that name a childhood history. It will claim that both your parents are dead. You must study it well, so that you do not slip up and accidentally betray that it is not your true history."

"I understand."

"And apply for citizenship in the country you go to as soon as you can.

"Have you given any thought to the name you want to use? And where do you want to go?"

"I thought perhaps the United States of America. It is a big country, easy for someone with the will to work to gain a respectable position. As for a name... May I think about that for a little longer?"

The Man nodded again. "You have an hour to decide on a name, or I will choose one for you. I will arrange for you to go to New York," he said. "In addition, I will have a reasonable amount of money made available for you; it will be in a bank there. However, I want you to move to another part of the country as soon as possible, certainly within three months, and move your money to a different bank. Do not try to contact me, even to tell me where you have gone. From the day you leave this house using your new identity, you are on your own."

"I understand, father. Thank you for your help and your generosity."

***

After walking out of his father's study, the boy felt a degree of tension leave his body. Not that he would admit it to anyone, but he was aware of a degree of relief; he had planned on disappearing from his father's life - that his father was insisting that he did, that the 'break' should be total, meant that The Man would never come looking for him.

He would be on his own, to make his own life... and perhaps find friends. Perhaps, for the first time in eleven years - since his mother died - find someone who genuinely cared for him.

For he had no illusions about his father's attitude. The Man might have loved his wife... maybe... but it was almost certain that he had no deep feelings for anyone else, not even for the son she had successfully given him.

He went to his bedroom, thinking hard. All he had to decide was a name... and get back to his father with it. As he thought, he began packing the few things he wanted to take with him. Premature packing, perhaps - but once his father decided on a course of action, he moved quickly. He was probably already deciding on his son's new history...

***

**One Year Before Present**

Simon Banks thought long and hard about what Blair told him concerning Jim's abilities, and his need for someone who knew the score regarding them. He had accepted that the fewer people who actually knew exactly what Jim was capable of doing, the better, though he did feel that Jim was perhaps a touch paranoid on the subject. Easy enough to admit to having excellent eyesight and hearing - some cops did test in the upper levels for one or the other - without saying just how excellent both were. For some reason, though, Jim was ultra-sensitive about how well he could see and hear, though he didn't seem as worried about his other senses. At the same time, he was less than totally cautious about using his senses in front of other cops; Simon was sure that at least some of them had an inkling of what Jim could do.

And so, when Blair's ninety-day pass was about to expire and Jim came to him wondering if anyone outside Major Crime would realize that Blair was continuing to ride along on an expired pass, Simon simply said, "If we keep quiet I doubt anyone will bother - the kid's been very useful to the department in the last three months."

However, he then went to see the Commissioner - an old friend, Commissioner Norris had been his Captain when Simon first moved into Homicide as a newly-fledged detective - and confided in him.

Norris looked at him thoughtfully. "You're sure this is legit?"

Simon nodded. "I've seen for myself what Ellison can do, and how much Sandburg helps him do it effortlessly. Also Sandburg has a way of looking at things and seeing a connection everyone else has missed. Ellison has solved a couple of cases just by listening to something Sandburg has said.

"Ellison uses his sight, in particular, to find evidence that can legitimately be used in court. He's scrupulous about that. He's caught quite a few barely noticeable things the Forensics people have missed, and drawn their attention to it. But he's afraid that if the bad guys know he has that edge, they'll try to take him out."

"I can understand that," Norris agreed. "So none of his colleagues know about this - officially, that is, whatever they might guess?"

"I'm the only person they've told... In a way I'm betraying their secret by telling you, but if Sandburg is to carry on riding with Ellison, someone at the top has to know, and I do trust you."

"You're right, and I'm honored by your trust. Let's think... You said some things he's said have helped solve cases? Has it just been for Ellison?"

"No, he's made comments more than once that helped the others solve a case. Oh, and he has some computer smarts too - Brown nearly lost an important file last week, and Sandburg managed to recover it. Then he lectured everyone on the importance of back-ups, reminding them that Rhonda's been telling them that for ages, and I saw the grin on her face as she listened to that lecture. She appreciated it, especially because the detectives were a bit shame-faced about it. They're not sexist, exactly, but they'd assumed 'do back-ups' meant 'female distrust of technology'. It did them good to have another man make the point."

"Right - what if we stopped calling him an observer, and started calling him a consultant? Tell him and Ellison first, then make it clear that anyone in Major Crime can go to him for advice. All you need to tell Ellison is that you told me how helpful some of Sandburg's comments were to the various detectives, so I approved the ridealong to continue and authorized the change of title. Calling him a consultant should cover us all if anyone challenges the decision to let him stay with us."

***

**Present day**

No cop particularly liked surveillance work.

Hours spent sitting, often in a car, occasionally in a near-derelict room, watching a building that as often as not was empty, waiting for someone to enter it. Often getting a phone call after several hours to say that whoever it was they were watching for had been caught somewhere else.

There was seldom even the... not distraction, they couldn't afford to get distracted... entertainment? of a conversation with their partners. Oh, partners were usually close friends - but when they had been together for years, there was often very little left for them to talk about. Their silences were comfortable, but did nothing to fill the dragging hours when nothing was happening.

There were four main teams in Major Crime.

As a mere observer, even as a consultant still with responsibilities to Rainier, Blair was often able to use the time to his advantage; Jim was the one doing the actual watching. Blair often used the hours to grade papers, and kept Jim amused by some of his muttered comments regarding the understanding - or, rather, lack of understanding - exhibited by some of his students. It was only when it was late on a winter night and having a light on was contra-indicated that Blair experienced the joys of just sitting... watching... waiting for something that might never happen.

And in winter, just sitting there was _cold_. Even when they were in a building, it was rarely heated. Oh, everyone knew to take a thermos of hot coffee and a sandwich. (Oddly, the need for those wasn't covered at the Police Academy; indeed, the surprisingly frequent need for surveillance was merely given a token mention. Of course, the Academy's training was mostly concerned with what the cadets would require for their initial time in Patrol; a detective's training, for anyone who wanted to move 'upstairs', would come later. But even that training rarely mentioned the often unpleasant conditions experienced by the men and women who sat, watching... waiting... hoping for something to happen.)

Brown and Rafe hadn't quite run out of conversation. Fairly recently partnered - although Brown had been there for some time, Rafe was fairly new to Major Crime - they weren't completely comfortable in each other's company; their silences were ever-so-slightly strained as each struggled to find some subject to discuss, something - anything - to fill the silence. They seemed to be even more mismatched than the unlikely team of Ellison and Sandburg; the casually-dressed, wise-cracking Brown and the impeccably-dressed Rafe who seemed to lack a sense of humor. In addition, their fellow detectives suspected that Rafe was just a little uncomfortable partnered with an African American. Come to that, one or two of the more observant suspected that Brown was possibly a little uncomfortable with a white partner - his previous partner, now retired, had also been African American.

The team of Walt Reubens and Pete Taylor had moved together from Homicide into Major Crime. They had been together since their days in Patrol, when the more experienced Reubens had quickly discovered that the apparent job of babysitting a rookie through his first months was indeed apparent. Taylor's father and grandfather had both been cops, and when he was growing up Pete had listened avidly to the stories of what they had seen and done. His time at the Academy had been almost unneeded. It was Pete who persuaded Walt to sit the detective's exam. They should have been partnered with different, more experienced, detectives when they moved to Homicide - indeed, they should probably have been assigned to different departments - but the entire PD, from the newest Patrol rookie to the Commissioner, knew how well they worked together, and Captain Hanson had never had reason to regret leaving the two together. Knowing that, Simon had also chosen to leave them together when they moved to Major Crime.

In the nearly twenty-four years they had been partnered, they still found plenty to talk about, because both were keen sports fans who enjoyed discussing the highlights - and low points - of each week's games - basketball or football in the winter, and in the summer, there was always baseball or, occasionally, a golf tournament or even tennis. Neither actually played any sport, but what they didn't know about ball games wasn't worth knowing.

Joel Taggart and Megan Connor were still a very new pairing, and they were a long way from running out of things to say. In addition, Joel was curious about Australia and Megan knew she had a lot to learn about America. And so they discussed their pre-Major Crime experiences, their different cultures, the history of those cultures - and it amazed them both how a simple word or phrase could lead on to a discussion of colloquial or slang terms. Joel knew it wouldn't be long before he was as fluent in Australian slang as Blair, who could usually interpret most of Megan's more colorful utterances.

And so Major Crime's detectives knew how they would manage to keep themselves occupied - or not - any time they drew surveillance duty.

Questioning suspects or witnesses was a little easier. If he wanted to intimidate, Jim did the questioning; if they wanted to relax a nervous interviewee, Blair took over.

With more nervous ones, Brown did the questioning; Rafe had a more formal approach that many people seemed to find unnerving, and was surprisingly effective when they were dealing with positive suspects.

Reubens and Taylor were equally happy in whichever role they played. Both were able to intimidate or encourage and both played either role to the full.

And - unlikely though it had at first appeared - Megan was the hard-as-nails intimidator of a recalcitrant suspect. Only Joel knew that growing up in the Outback with a father and three brothers - two older and one younger - and no female influence (her mother having died when she was barely two, the result of complications when her fourth child was born) - Megan didn't know how to do anything but compete on a male level if she wasn't to be totally dominated by everyone around her. Even her schooling had been done by radio, so she hadn't had other girls to play with. Joel, on the other hand, was a gentle giant; with everyone assuming that the biggest kid around automatically had to be the toughest, he had never had to compete for a place in the pecking order. At school and, later, in his work, he had done well, and been promoted on merit, treating those beneath him on the promotion ladder with a degree of respect that they appreciated and had never once abused.

Simon Banks was quietly satisfied with his team - even the observer/consultant who was partnered with Ellison. Of course, despite his cover story, Sandburg wasn't the average run-of-the-mill ridealong, there to gather information for... well, for whatever. Simon had, over his years as a cop, seen ridealongs who were doing a study of the work of the police for various reasons - at least one he could think of had been a psychological study of the stresses the police faced; there had been two or three where someone was researching for a novel with a police hero that they planned to write; one had been a young man who didn't know what kind of job he wanted, looking for... not exactly hands-on experience, but on-the-job information about what the work would entail. A week in a Patrol car had been enough to discourage him... though Simon had to admit that it had been a rough week, with one of the officers in the car shot and badly injured when responding to a silent alarm from a small store that was being robbed. At least the man had checked on the recovery of Officer Vaughn a few days after he shook the dust of the PD off his feet.

But nothing seemed to discourage Blair.

***

There was a new player in Cascade; according to the various snitches, it was one whose callous disregard for life shocked even the most hardened criminals who lived there. Certainly - somewhat to the temporary relief of the police - his targets were all men who could be called criminals. His first three kills were the enforcers for two of the top pimps and the second-in-command of the 357s.

Each funeral was sent a bunch of arum lilies with a card signed 'Angelus'.

The pimps didn't, really, care whether their enforcers lived or died - they were easily replaced; but Tyrrell Lang of the 357s took the killing of his second personally, and went to see the florist who had delivered the flowers; but the order - and the money - had been in an envelope pushed through the shop's letter box overnight, along with the card to be sent with the flowers. Lang was a good judge of truth and lie, and had no doubt the florist was telling the truth.

Lang himself was the fourth victim, and with his second already dead, the gang splintered.

All four had been shot, it seemed from a considerable distance. It appeared that shooting was this killer's MO. A day or two later, however, the car carrying three top Yakuza men exploded - and again there were the flowers from 'Angelus'.

"This 'Angelus' seems to be trying to take out or demoralize the men who have been running crime in Cascade," Simon said. "He could be doing the killing himself, or he could already have a hitman in his employ."

"I don't think 'Angelus' is this man's real name," Rafe said slowly.

"If it isn't, it's an odd name to assume," Simon said.

"I know the name," Rafe said. "Gabriel Angelus is well known in South Africa. He has a finger in many pies, but he is not a criminal and he has never, to the best of my knowledge, been a killer. He might manipulate things to bankrupt a rival, but he is unlikely to order that rival's death. Death is too final. If a man who has previously been rich finds himself bankrupt, however, he will suffer. That is how Gabriel Angelus works. He wants his enemies to suffer."

"And his friends?"

"He has none. No friends, no family - his wife died many years ago. If he ever loved anyone, it was his wife; if he ever did kill anyone, it was the doctor who could not save her life.

"But I cannot see him leaving South Africa. There, he is one of the 'movers and shakers' of the world - of his world. I can't see him leaving there to start from scratch in another country - but if he did, he wouldn't start with a series of murders. He would offer financial help to a failing basketball or football team and quietly work his way to a point where he controlled the team. A threat to withdraw his support would quickly encourage that team's followers to insist that he be given whatever he wanted. He would offer advice to a struggling businessman, helping him to make the business more successful. From there he would maneuver himself into a position as adviser to a politician; happy to be the power behind the throne. He never needed to be the power on the throne - he was content to be known as a man of influence."

"Might this be a relative, then?" Simon asked, forgetting that Rafe had already said 'no family'.

"To the best of my knowledge, he has no relatives," Rafe answered. "And Captain - if he hears about this man who is using his name, he will not be happy."

"And you know all this - how?" Simon asked.

"My family lived in the same town, when I was a child," Rafe said.

"Are they still there?"

Rafe shook his head. "My mother died when I was eight. I have no brothers or sisters. I came to America after my father died."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Rafe smiled. "Just doing your job - you thought I might be able to ask if Mr. Angelus was still there."

"Well... yes."

"And I've totally lost touch with everyone I knew when I was growing up," he added.

But when he went home that night, Rafe forgot about eating; he sat gazing out of the window, thinking, and even when darkness fell he continued to gaze at the dark rectangle of the window.

Thinking.

Remembering.

_"... Do not try to contact me, even to tell me where you have gone. From the day you leave this house using your new identity, you are on your own."_

_"I understand, father. Thank you for your help and your generosity."_

He knew he was correct in his assessment of how Gabriel Angelus would react if he heard about this killer using the Angelus name; but how would he react if the son he had disowned contacted him, to tell him about the killer?

Come to that, how would he react if that son didn't contact him to tell him about the killer? He sighed helplessly. Despite living with The Man for nineteen years, Rafe had no real understanding of how Gabriel Angelus would react to anything like this.

Perhaps an anonymous letter? The Man might suspect it came from his disowned son, but he would have no proof...

His mind locked into a spiral of 'should I - shouldn't I?', Rafe knew there was nobody he could ask for advice. He had to make his own decision. And while he had never considered himself particularly indecisive - he was, after all, his father's son and he knew he had inherited more than a little of his father's personality, he had always known it was a mistake to ignore what his father declared 'must be'. _Do not try to contact me, even to tell me where you have gone. From the day you leave this house using your new identity, you are on your own._

**_Do not try to contact me._ **

Could an anonymous letter advising The Man that there was a killer in Cascade using the name 'Angelus' be called 'contact'?

In the end, Rafe did what he had known right from the start that he must. Using his home computer and printer, he wrote

'Dear Sir,

I thought you should be advised that in Cascade, Washington, USA, there is a man using the name Angelus who is killing people known to the police. While their deaths are no loss to society, the killer's use of the name Angelus must throw suspicion in your direction.'

Then he addressed the envelope, put the letter into it, put a stamp on it and without giving himself time to reconsider, went out and posted it.

He had no idea what his father would do; but Rafael Angelus knew that he had done the only thing he could. And he had no doubt that if it had been the wrong thing, he would soon know.

Giving a mental shrug, Rafe went home, and went to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a continuation of this story - it does need a more definite conclusion - but it won't be on this bingo card; none of the remaining prompts offer a potential continuation.


End file.
